Arms of An Angel
by Lady Hankosha
Summary: When Reno and Yuffie get in a major fight, Reno heads off to do what he loves most--drink. A sequence of people, places, and ideas are sprung on him, however, and he starts wondering about what's truly real...Implied sexual themes. [CHAPT. 2 IS UP]
1. the Bar

"Arms of an Angel"  
--by Lady Hankosha

Song by Sarah MacLachlan

-'--,-'-@

She was beautiful. Her short brown hair had stayed short, but now it held a shade of lustrous sable. Her cheeks had slimmed, her eyebrows become more refined, her lips were fuller-although they kept their sultry pout that was so…endearing. Sexy. Her shoulders and waist had become more sharply defined to cope with her added inches, and her body had filled out until her somewhat sharp figure was softened by curves. She'd lost that funny, backwater accent that came with so many years lived in her small town, and now her voice contained a subtle hint of the city, picked up in the years she'd been living with him. Brown doe eyes were still full of mischief, but the fire was tempered by a seriousness that came with a certain sense of responsibility; more importantly, they'd lost their innocence. 

He would be quite proud of her if there were room for that right now. 

"I don't know what to expect from you anymore! You're not even around most of the time-I hardly see you!" 

Reno's green eyes locked on hers, so full of womanhood and righteous anger. He saw her step back, moving against the pedestrians around them. Moving away in rage and disgust at him. 

"I don't know why I even keep you around. You're no fun, you've got no life--and you're not useful anymore." The words were as bitter as hate and fear in his mouth, rolling along his tongue as he matched her retreat with a sneaking foot. 

Eyebrows drew up over her eyes, a sudden change taking place within them. Pity, perhaps, but he didn't want to see that--at all. "God _dammit_. Reno, _people aren't tools_!" 

And then she was gone. 

He felt his chest shuddering as the people moved on. _Well, that's over with._ In his mind he knew that it wasn't good enough, but it would do. 

"Mommy, why's he such a jerk!?" 

He whirled at the sound of the piping, feminine voice. Knew who was the subject of such an innocent question. 

"Shh, honey, it's none of our business," the mother told her, eyes darting worriedly to his face. What did she think he would do, kill the kid? Stupid. 

"But mommy, he's so funny-looking and she's really pretty! Why didn't _she_--" 

"Darling, really!" A tug later and the child and mother were permanently gone in the crowd. He'd likely never see either again. 

So there was nothing to do but turn around and go home. 

…It's funny how children really get to you.

-'--,-'-@

So he did what he always would, after the deafening pound of adrenaline cleared from his heart and he realized what he'd done--he headed for the bar. Headed to the one thing that made him lose his body for even minutes at a time…although he paid for it with the hangover the next morning, in a bed somewhere in the middle of nowhere. 

The one he chose was fairly empty, although the evening was dawning into darkness and most of these places were quite populated. It was rare to find someone who didn't have troubles, and alcohol and company were cheaper than drugs. Finding a stool for himself, he drew out his wallet and spread a fistful of gil on the table in front of him. Some quieted as they observed his wealth, quick to realize whom he must work for--must've worked for. That whole business was long dead, buried in the rubble that destroyed most of the city. Smashed in glass with the beam of prophetic light that killed the man who ran it all-religions had flown into being because of that destruction. The bartender was smart enough to figure that out as quick as everyone else, and brought him his money's worth. 

He was well and truly flying by his nineteenth, perhaps flighty from the drink--perhaps from the lightening of his wallet. Leaning dangerously back, he rested his drink on one knee and considered the people around him. 

The bar was fuller by now, and the counter was actually crowded--but that wasn't what interested him. Far more entrancing was the creature beside him, a work of long legs and slippery blonde hair. She noticed his attention and grinned back, the flashing lights playing blue, green and red tag across her skin. Stretched out a pale-fingered hand to him in an offer, and he reached to snatch it before it dropped into oblivion. 

A flash of face beyond her shoulder caught his attention as he moved, though. An arched eyebrow, twisted dark lips, narrowed eyes…disgust. She was staring at him in disgust, not trying to figure out who he was as much as what he was doing. _What is wrong with you,_ her eyes were telling him, _that you have to go running after women who have nothing to offer? Nothing but their bodies, nothing of their souls--what is it? _

And he paused. She turned back to her drink, hair falling to shadow her face again. The moment was gone--but he couldn't do it anymore. Couldn't do something he'd done so many times that it wasn't even tradition, just instinct. 

The blonde's smile slid, skin crinkling off a snake, and disappeared with a nasty sense that left that bitter taste in his mouth. What was it again--fear? Hate? She shrugged as if to tell him that she wouldn't be waiting on him, and with a flick of her hair she was veiled as well. Gone. 

He'd probably never see either again. 

_"Mommy, why's he such a jerk!?" _

_"Darling, really!" _

Moving out of the lights and darkness on light feet, into the guttered street…he knew that flying feeling was from his wallet. 

Because he wasn't drunk anymore. 

Funny, though, he could see the stars through a jagged scar in the metal pizza above him. Couldn't see those before Meteor. 

-'--,-'-@

Author's Note: All right, this most definately isn't a finished story. However, I won't keep posting the next chapters unless I get four or more reviews. =3 Let's hope that does something.


	2. the Hotel

He didn't want to go straight home. Not yet. Something was still bugging him about the whole evening. It just wasn't…right. Not the kind of thing that he could go home and stew over. Besides, there was likely to be someone there. Rude, or maybe Elena. He doubted it, though--the rookie was likely to be with her new boyfriend--he snorted aloud at that--and Rude…well, Rude was usually working late. He glanced at the bright figures of his watch and decided that it was probably late enough for Rude to be home…all the more reason for him not to go there, right? 

He stopped walking for a moment, realized he'd been heading instinctively towards one of the ruined Reactors to head up out of Sector 2. A sudden indecisiveness seized him as he wavered between safety and the unknown, between a familiar pillow to cry on--no, not cry on, he never cried--and a strange one, to listen to the sounds of the slums at night. Both sounded appealing in their differences, but…once again, there was that sense of wrongness. It tugged at his heart. 

Sentimental bitch, Elena had once called him. He'd hotly denied it at the time, gone so far as to slap her to prove how cold-hearted he was, but when she broke into tears he'd held her for a moment, to show her that he was sorry. The same feeling seized him now, and he was nearly afraid of it. Fear was something he kept at bay, like tolerance and kindness, but sometimes it crept behind his defenses. Fear of understanding--he wondered for a moment if there was a technical term for it but dismissed it as being unimportant--lead to fear of other things. Like relationships, or people, or even the dark. He'd hate to be alone, but was more afraid of being with people who could sense that weakness. 

That's why he'd let Yuffie go, he told himself, but he didn't really believe it. She'd let herself go. 

So he turned on his heel and slouched down the street, ducking under low beams of jagged steel as he looked for a final destination. 

The solution finally presented itself in the form of a small, whitewashed inn. The sign--reading, in bright letters, the _Goldmine_--hung proudly over the door. He strutted over in that proud, self-important walk that he had perfected so long ago and made his way inside. The air about the place, from the inside as well as the out, was one of cleanliness but deadly poverty. He was right in that assumption, too, when he found out that a one-person room for a night cost less than his drinks had. 

When a bed was all made up for him by the pretty owner's daughter, he made his way upstairs into the gloomy hall and located his room. It was small like the rest of the place, but certainly serviceable. He stood in the doorway for a moment, uncertain--wasn't there some sort of unpacking ritual that one had to perform when they stopped in an inn?--before he flopped onto the bed. 

But his eyes wouldn't shut. He supposed that there was too much going on in his head, too much alcohol left swimming through his veins to let him rest peacefully. Outside his window, somebody--a young woman, he guessed--was singing, like a nightingale. "I need some distraction," came her voice, "oh beautiful release, memory seeps from my veins…let me be empty and weightless and maybe I'll find some peace tonight…" 

He settled back against the pillows further, pushing away the sound of her voice. "In the arms of an angel, fly away from here," it taunted him quietly, beneath his consciousness. "From this dark cold hotel room, and the endlessness that you fear…" 

Reno thought about Yuffie. His…well, his lover for so long now. Two years? It had been punctuated by fights and affairs, ripped in many places and repaired with careful (although sometimes clumsy) stitches, but it was still a full two years. "You are pulled from the wreckage of your silent reverie," came the singer's sweet voice again. "You're in the arms of the angel…may you find some comfort there." 

_In the arms of an angel, eh?_ he thought to himself. _May I find some comfort here… _


End file.
